Barefoot Season. Сьюзен Мэллери

Carly spent her time alternating between wondering if she should start packing up and praying she didn’t have to go. She was able to fake it enough with Gabby that her daughter didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong.

       Ann had asked to come in late, so Carly was in the gift shop at lunch on Thursday. Several customers were browsing the book section while a teenage girl and her mother sighed over the dolls. Carly rang up a teapot, then wrapped it.

       “I hope your friend loves it,” she said as she handed over the package. “It’s beautiful.”

       “I think so, too,” the middle-aged tourist said. “Have a nice day.”

       Carly gave her a friendly wave, then turned and nearly ran into Michelle, who had apparently crept silently into the store. Carly had to jump back and steady herself on the counter.

       “You have a minute?” Michelle asked.

       Carly glanced toward the customers. “I shouldn’t leave them.”

       Michelle eyed the few people looking around. She pointed to the alcove by the rear storage room. “What about there?”

       Carly nodded. She could see the cash register and know if anyone was ready to check out.

       She crossed to the doorway. Michelle followed more slowly, her gait uneven, her hip obviously troubling her. Carly wanted to ask how she was, but held the words inside. For all she knew, she was about to be fired. Again. Showing compassion in the face of that seemed to be giving away the grain of power she had left.

       She hadn’t decided if she was going to plead her case or accept her fate with dignity. Two nights of sweating her bank balance had done nothing to improve her lack of a bottom line and going through the Seattle paper hadn’t given her much in the way of job options.

       As Carly leaned against the door frame, she saw that Michelle looked more tired than she had when she’d first arrived. Lines of weariness and pain pulled at her mouth. Dark smudges shadowed her eyes and there was a gray cast to her skin. Her long hair hung limp, and if she lost any more weight, her cargo pants were going to slip off her skinny hips.

       Michelle braced herself against the wall.

       “Do you need to sit?” Carly asked, then wanted to smack herself for asking.

       Michelle shook her head. “I’m fine.”

       She was a lot of things, but fine wasn’t one of them. Carly told herself this wasn’t the time to remember that, years ago, Michelle had been her best friend in the world. That they’d grown up together until ugliness had ripped them apart. Still, she wanted to connect with her former friend, to talk about all that had happened, to find a common middle ground. To heal, she thought wistfully. Closure and something positive out of this mess would be nice.

       “You’re not stealing.”

       Michelle made the pronouncement with the ease of someone sharing facts about the weather. Carly’s head jerked, as if she’d been slapped. All the warm, gooey feelings evaporated until she was left with anger and the knowledge that she was a down-to-the-bone idiot for expecting anything close to friendship from the woman in front of her.

       “I thought maybe you were, but you’re not,” Michelle continued. “I’ve been over the bank statements and books for the past three years and I can’t find where you’ve done anything wrong.”

       If Carly thought she had a hope of surviving without her job, she would have walked away. Simply turned and disappeared into the afternoon, maybe after giving Michelle a well-deserved kick in the teeth.

       “How disappointing,” Carly snapped. “I’m sure finding out I’m the bad guy in this would be a highlight in your day.”

       “I’m due a few highlights, and you’re right. I’m disappointed. I would love to fire you.”

       “You did fire me.”

       “You didn’t leave.”

       “I wasn’t sure you meant it.” Carly hated to admit the truth.

       “I did,” Michelle told her flatly. “But it’s not a luxury I can afford.”

       “What does that mean?”

       Michelle studied her. “You have to keep this to yourself.”

       “All right.”

       “I don’t know why I’m about to trust you.”

       “If it’s about the inn, then you can trust me. I’ve worked here nearly ten years. I care about this place. If that’s not enough, then hey, I don’t steal. That has to be worth something.”

       Michelle’s left eyebrow rose. “Attitude?”

       “I’ve earned it.”

       Michelle closed her eyes for a second, then opened them. Emotions swirled through her green irises. Whatever she was thinking, the thoughts weren’t happy.

       “The inn is in trouble. Financially, we’re sinking. I was at the bank a couple of days ago and it’s bad.”

       Carly considered the information. “I don’t understand. We had a pretty decent winter. Lots of guests, considering the season. When I paid the bills, there was money in the bank.”

       “Not enough. Two mortgages were taken out on the property. Ten years ago, there wasn’t one.” Accusation sharpened the words until they were a knife.

       “The renovations,” Carly breathed, knowing they had to have cost a fortune.

       “Something you pushed my mother to do.”

       “What? No. They were her idea. We had to get the roof repaired and things sort of spiraled from there.” Mostly because Brenda had gotten involved with the contractor. Getting him to do more work had kept him around.

       “Sure. Blame the dead woman.”

       Carly straightened. “You can rewrite history all you want, but that won’t change the facts,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “The renovations were your mother’s idea. She’s the one who wanted to build this gift shop and expand the restaurant. If you need proof, I can show you the files. She did the drawings, made notes. This was her vision. I wanted to spend the money on remodeling the bathrooms.”

       Aware of the customers close by, she consciously lowered her voice. “If you’d bothered to come back even once, you’d know that.”

       “Don’t make this about me,” Michelle told her. “Trust me, you don’t want to fight with me. I’m not who you remember. I can take you down.”

       Despite the tension between them and the seriousness of the moment, Carly laughed. “Seriously? You’re threatening me physically? You were in the army, not the CIA. You can’t kill me with a matchbook cover, so get over yourself. You’re moving about as fast as a woman in her late nineties and you’re obviously in pain. But this is so like you. Reacting without thinking. You’re still impulsive.”

       “You’re still annoying.”

       “Bitch.”

       “Double bitch.” One corner of Michelle’s mouth twitched as if she were about to smile.

       In that nanosecond, Carly felt the connection that had always been there. Then Michelle’s expression turned hard again.

       “I still blame you and as far as I’m concerned you’re the enemy.”

       “If that’s what it takes for you to sleep at night, go for it. I’m a single mother with a nine-year-old and sixteen hundred dollars in the bank. Making my life more difficult isn’t going to be much of a stretch, but sure. If you need to do that to feel important, I can’t stop you.”

       Michelle’s jaw tightened. “Then it’s in your best interest to keep what I’m about to tell you to yourself.”